


Sail Your Sea, Meet Your Storm

by kiwikero



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cruise Ship, In a Supply Closet, M/M, Pining, Semi-Public Sex, Strangers to Lovers, and liam is only mentioned, louis loves daiquiris, niall is only briefly in this, sorry fellas, wheee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 20:39:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7453189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwikero/pseuds/kiwikero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is thirty, single, and a bit of a workaholic. He's happy with his life, but then his mother decides to buy him tickets for a Singles Cruise. Appalled that his family thinks he can't handle his own love life, he steps aboard the ship determined to have a terrible time.</p><p>That is, of course, until a persistent brunet keeps offering him drinks.</p><p>The strangers to enemies to friends to pining to lovers fic where Louis is cynical, Harry is charming, and they have seven days to get their shit together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sail Your Sea, Meet Your Storm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Etoilenoire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etoilenoire/gifts).



> Okay, so this was SO SO SO much fun to write, although now I desperately want to go on a cruise.
> 
> That being said, I have never actually been on a cruise and it's been ten years since I've been to the Caribbean, so please pardon any misrepresentations. The cruise itself is entirely fictional, though I did draw inspiration from existing ships. Also, the last time I stuck these two on a ship together it sank, so this was a nice deviation. ^^;
> 
> Thank you so much to my always incredible beta, [Sarah](http://bunnnsnroses.tumblr.com/), and to the lovely [KK](http://waytoomanypeopleintheaddisonlee.tumblr.com) for Britpicking! Also, thank you [Sus](http://lululawrence.tumblr.com) for inspiring Louis' job.
> 
> Title is from Vienna Teng's "Harbor."

“A week, Louis. It’s only a week.”

At least, that’s what Louis keeps telling himself. It’s been his mantra these past few days, all through packing a suitcase and the flight to Florida and now, staring up at the blue and white monstrosity in front of him.

Sighing, he shoulders his carry-on bag and follows the crowd boarding the ship, his wheeled suitcase trailing almost mournfully behind him. In reality, he has nothing to be upset about—he’s getting a free holiday to some of the most beautiful places in the Caribbean, seven days of sun and drinking and relaxation, all thanks to his (somewhat overbearing) mother—but dammit, he has work to do.

“Enjoy your trip, Mr Tomlinson,” the cheerful lady at the boarding terminal says, handing back his documents and directing him to the security checkpoint. He collects his sailing card and smiles for the souvenir photo, and then is finally ushered aboard the waiting ship.

It’s… well, big. There are rows and rows of balconies jutting out from the sides, the decks dotted with pools and deck chairs and… bloody hell, a rock-climbing wall? It’s all a bit much, really, but at the same time Louis finds himself curious to check out some of the activities the ship has to offer.

By the time the ship sets sail that afternoon, Louis is nearly settled into his stateroom. It’s quite tasteful, with bright pops of colour against the neutral cream of the walls. There’s an elephant made out of hand towels watching him unpack from the teal and olive bedspread, and Louis can’t resist taking a photo of it on his mobile to show his siblings.

Light streams into the room from the large glass doors on the other side of the room. His mother had sprung for a room with a private balcony, for which Louis is grateful. He’d be perfectly happy to spend the entire time at sea curled up in one of those little chairs, able to look over the top of his laptop and see nothing but Caribbean blue.

Hanging the last of his shirts, Louis zips his suitcase closed and stows it away. There’s a copy of the itinerary as well as a map of the ship neatly arranged on the nightstand, and Louis reaches for the former as he flops back on the bed.

The booklet details the ship’s ports of call and the excursions offered at each, as well as meal times and a list of services available for purchase (Louis paid for the internet access before even stepping foot on the ship—he has to get  _ some  _ work done, at least).

Lastly, there’s a schedule of events taking place on the ship, show times of plays and musicians, and times and locations of parties and socials. The first one is set for just after dinner up on the deck, and Louis can’t stifle the groan he lets out at the title.

_ Sailing Single! Welcome Aboard Mixer and Drinks. _

He’s been trying his hardest to forget, but there’s not really any escaping it: His mother didn’t merely book him a trip on a cruise, no.

She booked him a trip on a  _ singles  _ cruise.

“It’ll be good for you, love,” Jay had assured him as he gaped at the ticket in his hand, formerly hidden inside a rather innocuous birthday card. “You need to get out more, meet people. You’re not getting any younger.”

True, Louis is now thirty and woefully single, but it isn’t because he can’t find a boyfriend. He just stays busy with work, is all. He doesn’t have time for romance right now.

He’d told himself the same thing in sixth form, and then in uni. But his focus paid off, and now he’s happy and successful and not the slightest bit lonely at all,  _ Mum. _

Still, the time away will be nice, and God knows Louis could use some sun. He’s made up his mind to enjoy the cruise as much as he can, and to take advantage of every opportunity that presents itself—aside from pulling, that is.

He’s resolved not to put any effort into interacting with his fellow singles. He’ll be friendly and conversational, but he draws the line at flirting. Louis is perfectly happy with his bachelorhood, and hopes to come out of his singles cruise just as single as he started.

(And maybe, just maybe, that’s partially to spite his mum for interfering with his love life.)

How hard can it be?

***

The deck is alive with lights and sounds, laughter and music seeming to pour out of the ship and into the ocean itself. The mixer is in full swing, or so Louis assumes., because he himself is staying as far away from it as possible.

Instead, he’s folded himself onto a deck chair far removed from the party. The rest of the ship is much quieter, only some staff and the odd passenger (himself included) choosing to skip the festivities. The sun is burning bright and orange on the horizon, moments away from sipping beneath the waves. Louis looks on as the sky slowly darkens to velvety blue, hints of stars peeking through the streaks of pink and orange running through the firmament like veins of copper and rosy gold.

Even with the undertone of merrymaking, it’s the most peaceful evening he’s had in weeks. Then again, at this time of day he’s usually still hunched over his work computer, checking and double-checking the details for the next big event. Even now he feels the pull of his laptop, safely tucked away in his stateroom, but—for tonight, at least—work can wait.

Maybe this trip will do him some good after all. It might not bring everlasting love into his life, but it could very well save him a few ulcers.

He’s just let his eyes drift closed, leaning back in the chair and relaxing to the fullest of his capabilities, when a voice behind him startles him back to reality.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

The voice is low and rumbling, the vowels curving in a way that hints the speaker is smiling. A fellow Englishman, which Louis would be pleased about in different circumstances.

Louis sighs. He thought that by skipping the mixer, he could ward off the awkward advances until at least tomorrow. Judging by the deep, honeyed drawl of the man behind him, he thought wrong.

“Listen, mate,” Louis says, letting his frustration bleed into the words. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m not interested. Save the charm for one of these other desperate sods.”

There’s a beat of silence, like the stranger is considering Louis’ words, then: “Suit yourself. Have a nice night.”

The salutation is followed by the steady sound of footsteps retreating down the deck, and Louis is alone once more. Well, as alone as he can be on a giant cruise ship full of passengers and crew.

The sky is much darker now, the sun but a memory in the form of a faint pink blush just over the sea. The air tastes of salt and yeah, maybe Louis should have taken that drink, but he refuses to even give the illusion that he’s interested. He’s just going to keep to himself, enjoy the sun, and worry about his love life when he gets back home. He surely isn’t going to let himself get attached to some bloke on holiday whom he’ll probably never see again once the ship docks, English or not.

_ That guy sounded like a prick, anyway, _ Louis thinks, before heaving himself out of his chair in search of his stateroom and a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow they’ll be in the Bahamas, and Louis plans to spend as much time on the beach as humanly possible.

***

Nassau is, in a word, bright.

The sky is clear and unobstructed, the sun shining down and warming the white sand underneath Louis’ toes. The beach is far from quiet, filled as it is with sunbathers and families, but the gentle crash of the waves against the shore is still soothing underneath the clamour.

Louis slathers on another layer of sunscreen, all too aware of how his pale English skin, accustomed to overcast days and wearing suits, will fare in the tropical sun. He tans quite easily, going a rich, caramel brown without much effort, but honestly he hasn’t been outside longer than the walk from the tube to his office in… well. Long enough.

After a lunch of conch fritters, he wanders the beach for a while, looking for shells or sea glass and letting the surf chase his feet as he walks. It’s simple, but Louis could use simple for a few days. He could have gone swimming with dolphins or snorkeling like some of the other passengers, but frankly, just being away from work this long is adventure enough.

Work has always come first for Louis. It came first when he was in secondary and trying to help his newly single mum care for his gaggle of younger sisters. It was first in uni when Louis busted his arse waiting tables to make ends meet. Now, at thirty, working hard is all he knows. It was worth it the first Christmas he could afford to spoil his family, and it’s still worth it now. Even though his mum has long since remarried and doesn’t need his help anymore, Louis likes knowing that he could provide for them if necessary.

So really it’s family first, then work, but it’s because of his loved ones that he works as hard as he does.

All too soon it’s time to head back to the ship, warm and wet and coated in a layer of sand. He’s exhausted from his day in the sun, but he also has some business he needs to attend to (besides, he isn’t paying an exorbitant amount for WiFi just to post photos on Instagram). After a quick rinse in the shower and another layer of sunscreen, Louis grabs his laptop and wanders back up on deck. If he’s going to work while he’s on holiday, he’s damn well going to enjoy the view while he’s at it.

The deck is far busier than it was that first night, with most of the deck chairs filled with bathing suit-clad people sipping cocktails. Some have clearly already paired off, flirting shamelessly or strolling by hand in hand. There’s a pang of loneliness at the sight of two women leaning against the railing with their arms around each other, just watching New Providence Island fade into the distance, but it soon passes.

_ You don’t want something as fleeting as a holiday romance anyway, _ he tells himself, powering on his laptop and focusing on his neglected inbox.  _ There will be plenty of time for romance. _

He hears his mother’s voice again. “You’re not getting any younger, Louis,” he mutters to himself. She’s right, of course she’s right: At this rate, Louis is going to end up old and alone, vastly successful but with no one to share it with. Maybe it is time to get out a bit more, go on a few of the dates his coworker Liam is always trying to set him up on. Still, he resolves, he’s going to do it on his terms, once he’s back home. He hasn’t been in a serious relationship since uni—one more week isn’t going to hurt.

Louis’ managed to make a pretty considerable dent in his unread messages, most of them from his assistant keeping him updated and passing along any calls that come in for him. It’s nearly time for dinner, and he’s just about to go change out of his swimming trunks, when a shadow falls over the chair he’s sat in.

Without even glancing up, Louis knows it’s someone coming to flirt with him. What he doesn’t expect is to hear the same deep, rumbling voice from the night before.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

Closing his laptop with a little more force than necessary, Louis turns to glare at the man, feeling his breath catch in his throat when he sees whom it belongs to. The man is tall and tanned, with a head of brown curls pulled up into a neat bun. He’s smiling pleasantly, the beginnings of a dimple carved into his left cheek. He’s tall and slender, and the way the sleeves of his polo stretch around his muscled biceps is enough to make Louis think he might actually like a drink, after all.

But, no. He’s not doing this. He certainly isn’t doing this with boys who can’t take a fucking hint.

“I thought I told you I wasn’t interested,” Louis says, narrowing his eyes. He’s being rude, he knows, but he also deserves to be left in peace if he so chooses. “I won’t remind you again.”

The man doesn’t seem at all perturbed, just keeps smiling and politely inclines his head. “My apologies,” he replies, a trace of something like amusement lacing the words. “Have a nice rest of your evening.” With that, he turns and strolls over to a woman in a fairly small bikini sitting a few chairs away, easily striking up a conversation with her.

Louis rolls his eyes; some people truly have no shame. He gathers his laptop in a huff, stalking past the curly-haired man and his new conquest without so much as a glance. He really does need that drink, he decides, but he can get it for  _ himself,  _ thank you very much.

***

The third day is spent in transit between ports of call, and Louis decides to take advantage of some of the ship’s amenities once he catches up on some work. By eleven o’clock, he’s managed to send several e-mails and even book a venue for the conference coming up in August.

It’s much easier to relax with business taken care of, so Louis allows himself a leisurely stroll around the ship before lunch. He checks out some of the duty free shops, already planning souvenirs for his family, and makes a mental note to send them a postcard once he reaches St. Thomas. He should go and visit them, once he’s back; it’s been half a year since his visit for Christmas, and the youngest set of twins are at that age where they seem to grow by leaps and bounds in between each time he sees them.

After lunch, he dons his swim trunks and heads to one of the ship’s many pools, looking forward to an afternoon of lazing in the water, preferably with a daiquiri in hand. The pool is busy without being too crowded, and the water is cool and refreshing against his sun-warmed skin. He hasn’t burnt yet—by some sort of miracle, no doubt—and already the skin left uncovered by his trunks has started to tan. He looks good with a tan.

The other passengers are in agreement, apparently, judging by the pairs of eyes that keep flicking his way. Louis knows he isn’t hard on the eyes; he’s short and compact, curvy and strong. His arms and legs are all muscle, balanced out by the stubborn layer of fat on his stomach and the thickness of his thighs. He preens under the attention when he gets out of the pool, making a show of bending down to towel off his legs and grinning when he straightens up to see the number of people checking out his arse.

A couple of people, both male and female, come over to chat him up, but Louis smoothly brushes off their advances. Instead, he finds himself a chair next to the pool and slathers on some more sunscreen, content to lie there and bronze in the sun.

He’s just flipped over to his stomach when he feels a shadow fall over his back. “You look comfortable,” an all-too-familiar voice says, and Louis barely bites back his groan. “Would you like something to drink?”

And that’s it. Louis has warned this guy twice now to back off, and he’s had enough. “Listen, pal,” Louis spits, practically jumping off the chair and to his feet. “I thought I made myself clear. I’m not interested, I’m never going to be interested, and frankly I wouldn’t even consider being interested if you were the only other person on this bloody ship.” He draws himself up to his full height, though still shorter than the brunet, and attempts to look as intimidating as possible. “I’m only going to say this one last time: Leave. Me.  _ Alone.”  _ He punctuates each word with a jab to the man’s chest, each prod of his finger jostling the silver nametag pinned to the man’s shirt.

Wait. Nametag?

Louis’ eyes fall to the little placard. Underneath the cruise line’s logo, in bold black letters, is the name  _ Harry. _ Stunned, Louis takes a moment to survey the person standing in front of him, from the pressed slacks to the polo shirt that Louis’ finger is still pressed into to the fucking nametag.

_ Oh, shit, _ Louis thinks, meekly taking a step back and letting his arm fall to his side. “You’re a server, aren’t you?” he asks softly, too ashamed to meet Harry’s eyes.

Harry, who’s been silent all throughout Louis’ tirade, chuckles warmly. He flicks at the stupid fucking nametag with one long finger. “Yeah,” he replies easily.

“You’ve been offering me drinks because it’s your job,” Louis states, eyes still fixed somewhere about the level of Harry’s naval.

“I’m afraid so,” Harry confirms, and Louis doesn’t have to look up to know that the bastard is smiling.

“Why didn’t you bloody  _ tell  _ me?”

“Wanted to see how long it would take you to notice,” Harry says with a shrug, the motion drawing Louis’ gaze upward. Harry is indeed smiling, his eyes bright and dimple sitting deep in his cheek. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, would you like anything to drink?”

Louis can’t help but laugh at himself, fingers toying with the drawstring of his shorts as he smiles back at Harry. Now that he knows Harry is a crewmember, he’s feeling rather foolish for the way he acted, all the wind having gone out of his sails.

“Erm, a strawberry daiquiri?” Louis requests shyly.

Harry, still cool and collected, just nods in response. “Coming right up,” he replies, before disappearing to get Louis his beverage, as if Louis hadn’t yelled in his face only moments before.

Flopping back down in the chair with a groan, Louis throws an arm over his eyes, embarrassed at his behaviour. He considers running, fleeing to his stateroom and living off room service to avoid having to see Harry again. But no, Louis Tomlinson isn’t a coward, and he doesn’t run from his problems—he fixes them. And he’s going to fix this one by apologising profusely and sending Harry off with an extremely generous tip.

Harry returns moments later, Louis’ requested beverage in hand. He passes over the glass before perching on the empty deck chair next to Louis’, looking on with an amused expression as Louis takes a sip and makes a pleased little sound at the taste.

“Good?” Harry asks, though his smile indicates he already knows the answer.

Louis nods enthusiastically, taking another sip before gracing Harry with a proper response. “Delicious. Should have taken you up on it the first time you offered,” he jokes, earning a chuckle from Harry. The daiquiri is sweet and strong, the cold seeming to refresh him from the inside out. There’s a lime wedge stuck over the edge of the glass, and Louis slides it idly around the rim. “Erm, I’m sorry, again. For, you know,” he says, too embarrassed to catch Harry’s eye as he apologises.

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry says, waving a hand dismissively. “Water under the boat.” He grins, pleased with himself, and Louis responds with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

“So, Harry the server, how did you end up working on a cruise ship?” Louis asks curiously, taking another swallow of his drink. He’s nearly half finished with it already, just enough alcohol in his bloodstream to feel a pleasant tingle in his lips. He licks them absently, and Harry’s eyes track the movement before he answers.

“Always wanted to travel,” Harry replies slowly, evenly, as if delivering a statement of grave importance. “Never had the money growing up, and I was too busy after uni. I’d been wanting a change of scenery, and when I got laid off I took the opportunity and applied to all sorts of random jobs.” He tugs at his uniform shirt, making the name badge catch the sun, the stark black letters standing out against the bright metal background. “What about you? What brings someone so steadfastly ‘not interested’ to a singles cruise?”

Louis laughs, toying with the straw sitting in the dregs of his daiquiri. “A mum who thinks it’s a travesty to have a thirty year old bachelor for a son,” Louis chuckles, bypassing the straw to let the last gulp of strawberry mush slide down his throat. He wipes his sticky lips after swallowing, offering Harry a shy smile as the server plucks the now-empty glass from his hand. “I’m determined not to give her the satisfaction. Hence my strong reaction when I thought you were, well…”

“Trying to pull you?” Harry supplies helpfully, every tooth on display as he leers at Louis with a shit-eating grin.

A flush rises on Louis’ cheeks, his mind failing to come up with a clever reply. He’s spared, though, by Harry’s gaze falling somewhere over Louis’ left shoulder. Louis glances to see a woman in a very bright orange bikini waving her empty margarita glass in the air with an expectant look on her face.

“Sorry, duty calls,” Harry says, climbing to his feet. “I’m sure I’ll see you around…” He pauses, looking at Louis pointedly.

It hits Louis that he never actually introduced himself, and that Harry is waiting for a name. “Oh!” Louis exclaims as he jumps to his feet, wiping the sweat and sunscreen off his palm before offering it to Harry. “I’m Louis,” he says, surprised by how his hand is nearly dwarfed by Harry’s.

“Louis,” Harry repeats, as if he’s testing the syllables on his tongue. “It’s my pleasure, Louis. I’m Harry, but you already knew that. Harry Styles.” He releases Louis’ hand and starts toward the lady in orange. He makes it about three paces before pausing, turning to look at Louis with a devilish grin. “Don’t let any other strange men offer you drinks,” he teases.

“Don’t worry, you’re the only one for me!” Louis crows back, smiling widely at the shared joke. Harry laughs, and then he’s off to see to other passengers, leaving Louis to work on his tan in peace.

It isn’t until his cheeks start to hurt that he realises he’s still smiling, and that he forgot all about giving Harry a tip.

***

The rest of the day passes pleasantly. When Louis tires of tanning and swimming, he decides to further explore the ship. There’s a mini golf course, and a zip line, and there seems to be a water volleyball tournament going on in one of the other pools. Everyone is laughing and smiling, pink-cheeked from the liquor and the sun. The same loneliness from yesterday threatens to resurface, but Louis tamps it down by having a go on the rock-climbing wall. The view from the top is incredible, and Louis smugly knows the staff member manning the rope is getting a rather nice view as well.

After a much-needed nap followed by dinner, Louis heads to one of the ship’s bars. It’s meant to be modeled after an English pub, though the promise of live music is what lures Louis inside. The band is decent—a pair of guys with a guitar and a keyboard—and Louis drums his fingers to the beat as he sips on his pint.

“Enjoying the show?” a voice murmurs, hot on his ear, and Louis nearly spills his beer in surprise.

“You!” Louis says accusingly, turning in his stool to see Harry leant against the bar beside him. “You scared me to death!”

Harry smiles apologetically, before gesturing to the stool next to Louis. “Mind if I join you?”

Feigning annoyance, Louis swivels back to face the band. “Might as well,” he grumbles, but he can’t help the way his mouth curves around the words in an uninvited smile.

They sit in silence, sipping their respective beers and listening to the music. It’s only when the band takes a break that Louis turns back to Harry.

In the time since he’s sat down, Harry has managed to order a pint and a plate of chips and has nearly finished off both. He’s just about to eat a ketchup-covered chip, tongue out like an obscene landing pad, when he notices Louis watching him. “What” he asks, before popping the chip in his mouth.

Louis chuckles, taking the time to give Harry a once over. He’s not in his uniform, instead wearing white jeans that hug his legs and the most garish Hawaiian shirt Louis has ever laid eyes on. It’s navy blue and patterned with orange and green pineapples, and Harry’s done up so few of the buttons he shouldn’t have bothered at all. Hints of tattoos peek out beneath the gaping fabric, black ink on smooth, tanned skin, drawing Louis’ eyes the same way the nametag had when it caught the sun. His long hair is loose around his shoulders, chestnut waves framing his face.

“See something you like?” Harry asks, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Louis can’t take him seriously, not with the smear of ketchup at the corner of his mouth and those stupid fucking pineapples.

“Wipe your mouth,” Louis laughs, chucking a napkin at Harry. “And what on earth are you wearing?”

Harry ignores the napkin, his tongue darting out to clean the spot instead. Ketchup vanquished, Harry frowns down at his shirt, tracing over one of the ugly pineapples. “It’s Hawaiian Shirt Night, Louis,” he says, looking up with a furrowed brow. “Didn’t you read your itinerary?”

And, well, Louis  _ had, _ but he had promptly filed ‘Hawaiian Shirt Night’ in the same mental file as ‘Welcome Aboard Mixer,’ the one labeled  _ avoid at all costs. _

“I didn’t bring one with me,” Louis replies haughtily, pushing his empty pint glass away and signaling for another. “What are you doing here, anyway? Are you allowed to drink on duty?”

“I have a few hours off this evening,” Harry says. “I usually come here for a drink when I have some free time.”

“In that case, his next one is one me,” Louis informs the bartender, a blond lad with an easy grin. The man brings over their beers, winking at Harry before moving to the other end of the bar. Louis watches the exchange carefully. “So I take it you’re not just here because you’re homesick,” he says, eyebrow raised.

Harry laughs, nearly choking on his drink. “It is a bit funny that we’d meet in the pub, innit?” he says, wiping at a spot of beer that managed to land on his shirt. Louis hopes it stains. “Almost like we were meeting back home.”

It’s something to think about, meeting Harry in different circumstances. If he’d been back in London and Harry had sidled up to him in those tight jeans, Louis might not have been so keen to pay attention to the band.

But they didn’t meet in London. They met on a cruise ship, and Louis isn’t interested, and Harry didn’t answer his question. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Harry regards him for a moment, as if he’s able to see past the prickly exterior and read Louis’ mind (if he can, he’ll see the many ways Louis is dreaming about destroying the offensive shirt, including but not limited to setting it on fire).

“No,” he answers finally, tilting his head at the bartender. “I’m friends with Niall. I like to come and keep him company on his shifts.”

_ Just friends? _ Louis can’t help but wonder, glancing back at the bartender. He’s laughing, popping a cherry into his mouth and spitting out the stem moments later, neatly tied into a knot, much to the delight of the women sitting across from them.

Whatever. It doesn’t matter, does it, if Harry and Niall are a thing. Because Louis isn’t interested, and Harry is off limits, and this thing that he’s feeling is most certainly not jealousy.

“You’re thinking so loud I can hear the gears turning,” Harry says, nudging Louis’ knee with his own. “Want to talk about it?”

Louis shrugs. “Not really.”

Not at all perturbed, Harry bumps his knee again. “All right, then, tell me about yourself. All I know so far is that you’re thirty, single, and have terrible taste in beer.”

“Oi!” Louis snaps indignantly, protectively clutching his glass. “Better than terrible taste in shirts!” He affects a pout, narrowing his eyes at the mirth evident on Harry’s face. “Just for that comment, the next round is on you.”

Harry agrees. Mollified, Louis starts talking. 

The words spill out of him as if displaced by the liquor Harry keeps plying him with. Louis has no idea why he feels so comfortable opening up like this to a complete stranger, not when he’s so used to keeping his cards close to his chest.

Harry just listens, watching Louis speak with interest, only interrupting to motion for Niall to bring them fresh pints. He listens as Louis speaks about his family, about his little siblings, his step-dad and their home back in Doncaster. He looks appropriately sympathetic when Louis recounts the horror of his mother presenting him with the cruise ticket on his thirtieth birthday, and nods understandingly when Louis explains that work just keeps him so  _ busy. _

“What is it you do, exactly?” Harry asks over the rim of his glass, having traded beer for a violently pink cocktail. His words are tinged with the faintest effects of the alcohol, consonants less sharp and vowels tumbling into one another.

Louis shifts in his seat. His own body feels pleasantly warm and light, his limbs as relaxed as his lips have been all evening. “I’m a corporate event planner for a law firm in London. Conferences, business meetings, wooing clients.” Louis rolls his eyes. “Basically I have to know every detail of every event, and God forbid I hire the wrong chauffeur because they have ties to one of our competitors.” That has only happened once, but the resulting verbal lashing was more than enough to make sure Louis will never make the same mistake again.

“What are you working on now?” Harry asks. His knee is resting against Louis’ now, and neither man makes any move to end the contact.

Louis sighs. The London Law Expo is mere months away, and his least favourite annual headache. It’s near constant pressure, and everyone in the office seems to radiate it as the weeks go by. Louis should be home now, working late into the night to confirm schedules and speakers, transportation and lodging, but instead he’s sitting in a pub on a cruise ship, chatting up a crew member and listening to a decent cover of a Sam Smith song.

“Louis?”

Harry’s voice snaps Louis from his trance, and he realises he never actually answered. “Sorry,” he says, a rasp sneaking into his softened voice.

“Don’t be,” Harry replies, lowering his pitch to match Louis’. It feels too intimate in the dim light of the bar, and Louis shifts his leg away from Harry’s. If the other man notices, he doesn’t allow it to show on his face.

Instead, he studies Louis, the corner of his mouth twitching up as his green eyes regard Louis with something akin to calculation.

“What?” Louis demands, feeling small under the intensity of Harry’s stare.

Harry’s lips curl into a full-fledged smile, pink and shiny from his cocktail. “For someone so concerned with details, you’re missing a major one.” 

Louis frowns. “What are you getting at?”

Harry looks like he’s just solved world hunger. “You said you don’t want to meet someone, but there’s no reason you can’t have a little fun, right? You said it yourself, you want to enjoy the cruise as much as you can.”

“What are you getting at?” Louis asks, eyes narrowed. He has a feeling he already knows where this is heading, and it’s nowhere good. 

“I’m going to get you laid,” Harry announces smugly.

The bluntness of Harry’s announcement startles a laugh out of Louis. “Really, now?” he asks, eyebrows high on his forehead.

“Yeah,” Harry replies, shrugging one shoulder. “You need to relieve some stress, you’ll never see any of these blokes again, and it will give me something to do to pass the long hours serving drinks to sweaty passengers.” He’s grinning widely now, cheeks flushed and eyes dark. “C’mon, at least let me try.”

Louis considers it for a moment. It  _ has  _ been a while, if he’s honest. It wouldn’t hurt to blow off some steam, as it were, as long as there was no illusion of it being any more than that. Besides, it might be fun to see what kind of men Harry throws his way.

“You can try,” Louis allows eventually, “but I warn you, I’m pretty choosy.”

“Good thing my taste in men is better than my taste in shirts,” Harry replies primly before taking a dainty sip of his drink.

***

The fourth day finds Louis in St. Thomas, lush and green and looking every bit like paradise. Louis shells out the extra money for a cruise tour around the island, content to listen to the guide tell them about the St. Thomas Synagogue and Blackbeard’s Castle with the breeze in his hair. Even as he snaps photos of the various landmarks, his thoughts wander to Harry. How does the server spend his days when the ship is docked? What is it like, living at sea for months at a time?

And why the hell does it matter to Louis, anyway?

Harry is just like anyone else he meets on this trip: Temporary. He doesn’t tend to concern himself with fleeting things, too interested in focusing on what’s important: His career and his family. Where, then, does Harry fit in among those things?

After the scenic cruise, the participants are shuttled to Charlotte Amalie’s famous shopping district. Louis finds himself strolling down the bustling Dronningen’s Gade, occasionally hit with bursts of cool air from the shops lining the street, doors thrown wide open to invite the tourists in. The buildings are painted in pastels, yellows and greens and blues, bright signs and neon doors and multi-coloured pennants criss-crossing the street like fairy lights.

Louis wonders if Harry gets to visit any of the ports of call. He wanders into a store aimed at tourists, selling shirts and postcards and refrigerator magnets, all in vibrant colours. They’re a bit garish, but perfect souvenir material, and half an hour later Louis has a bag laden with shirts and magnets and postcards for each of his family members, as well as a shot glass for himself.

It doesn’t hit him until he’s leaving the store that he purchased an extra shot glass for Harry.

Back on board the ship, it seems as if Harry is waiting for him. Louis clutches his shopping bags close, not ready to admit that the server has been occupying his thoughts all day. The shot glasses clink together, defiant of their tissue paper wrapping.

“Productive day?” Harry asks in that lazy way of his. He’s back in uniform today, hair tied back and only the faintest dark smudges beneath his eyes to indicate their heavy drinking the night before.

Louis shrugs in what he hopes is a casual manner, the glasses knocking together once more just to spite him. Kind of like the way he and Harry keep running into one another. “Yeah, got my family’s souvenirs all taken care of, so that’s my shopping done,” Louis says nonchalantly.

Harry nods, eyes filled with something like mischief. “Good, because I have your first eligible bachelor picked out,” Harry declares proudly, puffing out his chest. Louis raises a skeptical eyebrow, prompting Harry to continue. “Over there. White shorts, two o’clock.”

Louis turns his head in the direction Harry indicated, flitting across bodies until he lands on one wearing the specified attire. The man is attractive enough: Tall, beefy, and tanned. His hair is short and brown, just the barest hint of scruff dusting his square jawline.

“Not my type,” Louis says, turning back to Harry without sparing the man another glance.

Harry’s eyebrows raise, not in surprise but instead as a challenge. “Oh?”

“Too muscular.”

“I see.”

Louis takes a step past Harry, ready to return to his stateroom and dress for dinner. “Mm. Better luck next time,” he says flippantly, leaving Harry to scout out his next potential match.

***

Harry is waiting for him outside the dining room before dinner (“First table on the left, red button-down”), and afterward on the deck when brings Louis a daiquiri, unbidden (“Edge of the pool, green Speedo”). He’s even loitering near the lift Louis uses to get back to his room (“The drunk guy over there? Maybe?”).

Of course, Louis has a reason for turning down each and every one: “Too short.” “A  _ Speedo,  _ for fuck’s sake?” and “Harry, he just was sick in that flower pot.” He doesn’t allow himself to even entertain the idea of attraction, instead enjoying watching Harry’s determination grow with each denial.

Sure, Harry’s taste isn’t bad, and were he trying to pull in a bar he might have taken any one of them home (well, barring the fellow who vomited). Maybe it  _ has  _ been a while since Louis has gotten any decent action, but he’s not so hard up that he’s willing to lower his standards just to get off. So he’ll let Harry keep trying, and he’ll keep saying no. In the meantime, he’ll keep soaking up the sun and strawberry daiquiris until it’s time to go back to reality and forget all about Harry Styles.

***

“Louis! Hey, wait up!”

Louis has just stepped off the ship in St. Maarten when he hears Harry call out. Turning around, he’s surprised to see the server jogging to catch up with him, his messy bun wobbling with each step. He’s out of uniform, today wearing jean shorts and a black v-neck. The sleeves are rolled up, showing Harry’s tan, well-muscled biceps.

“What are you doing here?” Louis asks once Harry catches up to him, panting slightly from the exertion.

Harry grins, dimple and all. “It’s my morning off,” he explains, tucking an escaped curl behind his ear. Louis’ eyes track the movement before returning to Harry’s face. “We’re allowed off the ship in port if we aren’t needed. I thought I’d see if you wanted some company.”

Louis hums thoughtfully. “Well, I was rather hoping for another one of your terrible Hawaiian shirts, and you’ve let me down,” Louis pretends to chide. “What else do you have to offer?”

“Charm, wit, and my unspeakably good taste in men?” Harry responds cheekily, reaching out to flick at Louis’ arm. “Which, by the way, you don’t seem to appreciate.”

“I’ll start appreciating it when you choose someone worth appreciating,” Louis sniffs.

Harry holds up his hands in defeat. “Hey now. Just because you’re picky doesn’t mean you have to be rude.” He tucks a stray curl behind his ear. “All right, then how about I offer you my services as tour guide? I have been to St. Maarten a time or two.”

Pretending to consider the offer, Louis taps at his chin before heaving an exaggerated sigh. “I suppose you can tag along,” he says, trying not to smile at the pleased expression that crosses Harry’s face. “But, no matchmaking until we’re back on the ship. Deal?” Harry nods in agreement, and Louis claps him on the back jovially. “Well, then, Styles, what’s there to do in Philipsburg that doesn’t involve a snorkel?”

“I have just the thing.”

Harry’s ‘thing’ turns out to be renting bicycles for a self-guided tour.

“You’ve got to be joking,” Louis says flatly, watching Harry straddle a bright yellow bike.

“What?” Harry asks, legs looking even longer for the metal frame between them. “You can ride, can’t you?”

“Oh, I can ride,” Louis scoffs, cheeks colouring at the way the unintentional innuendo makes Harry snort. “Whatever. If I break a leg, you’re personally waiting on me for the rest of my trip.”

“All the strawberry daiquiris your heart desires,” Harry promises, crossing his heart with one hand even as he starts to peddle away. Laughing, Louis follows along, slightly unsteady but managing to stay upright as Harry leads the way.

The ride is breathtaking, both the scenery and the exertion. Louis knew he was out of shape, but  _ damn. _ Harry puts him to shame, pumping his long legs to go up hills without seeming to break a sweat. Harry does, however, nearly fall off his bike when he’s too busy showing off to notice a stick across the path, laughing and blushing as he struggles to keep himself upright. That makes Louis feel slightly better, laughing right along with him.

They stop for lunch at a burger place, then, after returning the bicycles, Harry drags him to Gelateria Milano for dessert. They sit on the boardwalk, on wooden benches painted the same bright blue as the striped awning over the entrance, staring out over the beach as they lick rapidly melting gelato from their sticky fingers. Louis has the stracciatela, the bits of chocolate crunchy in contrast to the cream. Harry gets his caffe-flavoured gelato on his shorts, and in his hair, and Louis can hardly stop laughing hard enough to help him clean up. Neither notices the knowing looks sent their way from the elderly couple seated nearby.

“Do you bring all the passengers you try to seduce here?” Louis teases, leaning over to steal a bite of what little gelato Harry hasn’t managed to wear.

“I’ve never taken a passenger anywhere,” Harry replies with a shrug, making a small noise of protest at the theft of his dessert. “It’s frowned upon. Unprofessional.”

Louis’ eyebrows climb toward his hairline. “So, all the months you’ve worked on ships, you’ve never…” He makes a rude gesture with his fingers that makes Harry choke.

“Didn’t want to risk my job,” Harry says, taking a sip of water to clear his throat. “I get a break between contracts; I can control myself.”

“So why me?”

Harry studies him for a moment. “You’re safe, aren’t you? You said it yourself, you aren’t looking for anyone. I don’t have to worry about you putting me in a compromising position.”

“Right, of course,” Louis replies, but the words leave a bitter taste in his mouth that the gelato can’t quite chase away.

By the time they have to head back to the ship, the sun has started its downward climb. The walk feels almost romantic, the air warm, a breeze waving the strands of fairy lights lining the path. Louis nearly reaches out to take hold of Harry’s hand, jerking back at the last minute.  _ Where did that come from? _

It was too easy, somehow, to forget that Harry was off-limits after the day they’d shared. They part ways on the deck, shaking hands still sticky with gelato, Louis to take a shower and change before dinner and Harry to get ready for the evening shift.

All through dinner, Louis can’t help but think that St. Maarten was his favourite port so far, and he reckons Harry has a lot to do with that. In fact, all his favourite memories of the ship seem to revolve around Harry, like Louis has been helplessly sucked in to orbit him. By dessert, which cannot hold a candle to the sweet taste of gelato under the Caribbean sun, Louis knows that he’s fucked.

He’s got a crush on Harry Styles, the one man on the whole bloody ship he can’t have.

Louis doesn’t head to the deck, not tonight. Instead, he heads straight to his room after dinner, ignoring his laptop and shucking his clothes as fast as his hands can manage. He’s too hot, his shirt too tight, and his skin feels like it’s crawling with how badly he needs some contact. He imagines sun-warmed skin pressed against his, a red mouth leaving scorching kisses across his body. It’s too much, and Louis barely has the presence of mind to fumble in his bag for the little bottle before throwing himself to the bed, the sheets cool against his overheated skin.

The first stroke of his palm against his hardening cock has Louis biting back a moan. It’s dry, the lube lying unopened beside him on the bed, but the friction sends sparks up his spine. It hasn’t been that long since he’s done this, but he can’t remember the last time he’d touched himself with someone in mind. Now, the thought of a larger hand than his covering his cock, a longer thumb gathering the bead of precome leaking from his slit, has Louis almost delirious with desire.

When he can no longer take it he grasps for the lube, flipping open the cap and upending it over his palm. The liquid is cold, and he hisses at the sensation as he strokes himself again, jerking his hips into the slick slide of his fist. He plants one foot on the bed, widens his legs, spreads them to make space for an imaginary person.

Not imaginary.  _ Harry.  _ God, Louis can see him there, long hair dragging against Louis’ thighs as he closes his lips over the sensitive head of Louis’ cock. Or maybe he’d tie it back, letting Louis see his face clearly, see the way Harry’s lips stretch around him like they were fucking made for it.

The visual is too much to take, and Louis is coming over his fist with a stuttered gasp. He strokes his sensitive dick once more, a last feeble bead of come dripping onto his stomach, and then he goes still.

His body is relaxed, but his mind is racing. He just got himself off fantasising about a practical stranger. Worse, someone who doesn’t think about Louis that way at  _ all,  _ and is actively trying to set him up with other men. He curses himself. Of course he’d let himself fall for the one man on the singles cruise he isn’t allowed to have.

Lying there, his legs still trembling and come going cold on his belly, Louis can’t help but wonder:

_ How the fuck did that happen? _

***

The next day, a day at sea, Louis does what he knows best: He buries himself in his work. The emails he’d neglected the day before are a welcome distraction. He just has to get through today and one more, and then they’ll be back in Florida and Louis can get as far away from Harry as possible.

It’s guilt, is what it is. Guilt at having led Harry on—the opposite direction than that would usually go, but still. He’d let Harry believe he was ‘safe,’ and then he turned around and used Harry to fuel his masturbatory fantasies. Even now, he can hear Harry’s voice in his head:  _ I don’t have to worry about you putting me in a compromising position. _

He can’t face Harry, not after what he did. Instead, he holes up in his room. When he runs out of emails to send, he starts looking at the details for events months and months away. When he exhausts those, he posts a few pictures to his Facebook: The beach in Nassau. Fort Christian in St. Thomas. Him on the rental bike in St. Maarten, one foot on the ground and the other resting on the pedal, his cheeks red and hair windblown. Harry had taken the picture.

_ “Hand me your phone.” _

_ “Why?” Louis had asked, even as he complied. _

_ Harry swiped at the screen, opening the camera app and pointing the lens at Louis. “Because you need at least one holiday photo that isn’t a selfie. Now smile.” _

Louis fingers hover over the trackpad, debating. In the end, he posts the photo anyway, allowing it to be a reminder. It’s not like he has any pictures of Harry to remember him by.

He orders room service for lunch, and decides to try one of the restaurants for dinner, carefully avoiding any of the places Harry’s been known to work at. He slinks back to his room alone after his meal, his heart feeling as empty as his stomach is full. Even as he falls into bed, the sheets clean and the bottle of lube tucked back into his bag, Louis can’t suppress the fresh wave of guilt that washes over him.

Even if he did come clean, admit to Harry that he has a crush, what good would it do? They have a little over twenty-four hours left together. Louis is tied to his work, and Harry lives at sea. It would never work, and it’s foolish to pretend otherwise.

One more day. He can make it one more day. Then it’s back to London and work and not having to worry about accidentally hurting beautiful men with dimples and tattoos. He feels lonelier now, in a too-big bed on a palatial ship, than he ever has back in London.

Louis isn’t quite sure what that means.

***

Saturday morning. The last day at sea. By this time tomorrow, Louis will be leaving his stateroom for the last time. Leaving Harry.

Sleep hadn’t come easy, Louis spending most of the night tossing and turning. He hadn’t been able to get his thoughts in check. It’s like he’s split in two—one half desperately wanting to tell Harry what’s on his mind, and the other ready to put as much distance between them as possible.

Louis watches the water, today a cobalt blue under the hazy morning sky, as he sips thoughtfully on a cup of tea. If this were work, if he had twenty-four hours to secure a contract, what would he be doing?

He knows, is the thing. He’d do everything it took. But this isn’t work, and the battle in Louis’ brain rages on.

He thinks of Harry. What is he doing now? Is he working on deck, looking for Louis? Wondering why Louis is avoiding him? Or maybe he’s sat in the pub, pint in hand, spilling his guts to Niall.

Maybe he’s found someone else to pal around with.

Louis shakes his head to dislodge the thought. If Harry has replaced him, he’s hardly to blame—after all, it’s not like Louis’ given him any indication that there’s anything other than camaraderie between them. And that’s just it, isn’t it? Louis’ feeling sorry for himself over a chance he hasn’t taken. Over a chance that it’s still not too late to take.

_ I have to tell him, _ Louis decides, draining the last of his now-cold tea and scrubbing a hand over his face. He dresses quickly, tries to plan out what he’s going to say. If he can even find Harry, that is. With his luck, Harry will have the day off and absolutely no inclination to spend it waiting for Louis to find him.

The deck is filled with passengers, the air thick with the bittersweet knowledge that they’re steadily on their way back to reality. For all his reservations, the cruise had actually been a lot of fun: sipping daiquiris in the sun; strolling along some of the most beautiful beaches in the world; riding bikes around Philipsburg; Harry.

Harry. Harry. Harry. That’s what it comes down to. As much as he resisted, as much as he tried to avoid it, he’d given in to his mother’s plan after all. He’d met someone, someone wonderful, someone that made each day better just for being in it.

And Louis almost let him slip away entirely.

He finds Harry near the usual pool on deck, a full tray of drinks in hand. Condensation beads down the sides of the glasses, and Harry is smiling widely as he passes each one to a waiting passenger. Louis just watches him in action, noting the way he exudes charm with ease, putting a smile on the face of everyone he encounters. He’s breathtaking.

Harry’s eyes brighten when he notices Louis watching him, the delight hovering on his features for a second before his brows draw together. He lets the now-empty tray fall to his side as he slowly crosses to Louis.

“Hey,” Harry says, sounding uncertain. “I didn’t see you yesterday.”

“I had a lot of work to catch up on,” Louis says, feeling guilty at the hurt look that crosses Harry’s face. “Actually, I was hoping we could go somewhere to talk, if you have a minute.”

Harry bites his lip, looking from Louis down to the tray tucked under his arm. “I’m working, Louis.” He sounds regretful and annoyed all at once.

Louis runs a hand through his hair. He can tell Harry’s upset with him, and worse, he deserves it. “Sorry. This was a bad idea,” he mutters, turning to find somewhere to hide out and lick his wounds.

“Wait,” Harry calls out before Louis can go far. “I have a break in a few hours. Meet me by the pub around one o’clock?”

Louis glances back over his shoulder, not quite able to meet Harry’s eyes and instead falling on the way his fingers curl around the edge of the black plastic tray. “I’ll be there,” he says softly.

“Okay,” Harry replies. “I’ll see you then.”

The hours between seem to stretch on endlessly, and Louis doesn’t know what to do with himself. He can’t focus on work, he’s too antsy to eat much, and he doesn’t think drinking would be a wise idea before the conversation he’s about to have. Sure, the liquid courage would be nice, but he doesn’t want Harry to take anything he says as being fueled by alcohol.

In the end, he winds up sitting on a bench in the ‘shopping district’ of the ship, watching his fellow passengers stroll past with bags laden with purchases, chatting loudly and taking selfies to remember one another by.

If this all goes pear-shaped, he wonders if Harry will at least let him take a photo to remember him by, something other than a glimpse of khaki shorts over lean legs or a blurred hand clutching a cup of gelato in the background.

Finally,  _ finally,  _ it’s time to head to the pub (it has a name that’s supposed to sound British, but Louis can’t help but think of it as Niall’s). Harry’s beat him there, leant against the wall and looking around anxiously, like the wait has been just as hard for him as it was for Louis. Louis watches him for a moment, the way he shuffles his toes, feet turned slightly inward; the way he shoves a hand through windblown brown curls, pushing them to the right and letting them fall how they please.  _ He’s stunning, _ Louis thinks. It almost takes his breath away, then, when Harry’s eyes snap up to meet his, and when the hell did Louis become such a cliché?

“Hey,” Harry says, a brighter echo of his greeting this morning. He gestures to a nearby seating area, red metal chairs clustered around small round tables.

Louis shrugs, an unspoken  _ sure, _ saving all his words for when he needs them. He follows Harry to an empty table towards the edge of the seating area, waiting for Louis to nod his approval before settling into one of the chairs.

It’s silent between them for a moment, the air charged with possibilities, and it isn’t until Harry clears his throat that Louis realises,  _ right, _ he’s the one who asked for this little meeting.

Harry beats him to the punch. “Is this about why you were avoiding me yesterday?” he asks softly, pressing his fingertips into the pattern of the tabletop.

“I wasn’t—”

“You were,” Harry says, interrupting his protest. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep my bounds in St. Maarten.” He huffs out a frustrated sigh. “I come on strong, sometimes, but I promise you I wasn’t trying to make it a date or anything.”

Louis blinks at that. “What?” There’s no way he could have heard that correctly.

“Don’t make me spell it out.” Harry runs his hand through his hair again—a nervous habit, perhaps—and lifts wide green eyes to Louis’. “You’re the best person I’ve ever met on these stupid cruises, and I’m not going to mess that up just because I went and developed a crush.”

Heart beating a mile a minute, Louis takes a deep breath as he lets that sink in. “This is not how I was expecting this conversation to go,” he admits, nervous laughter bubbling up in his throat.

“I’m sorry, I really am. I had such a great time with you—”

“Harry, shut it,” Louis says, grinning now. “What I mean is, I was planning on telling you the same thing.”

Harry’s face goes slack in surprise, his mouth working open and closed helplessly. “Wait.  _ What?” _

Louis shrugs. “Guess I met someone after all,” he says simply, offering Harry a bashful smile. “You were terribly persistent, after all.”

Schooling his features, Harry manages to return a grin that has Louis’ toes curling in his sandals. “Persistent, eh? I’ll have to remember that the next time a very fit man rudely turns my drink offers down.”

“Oi!” Louis protests, playfully swatting Harry’s arm, not at all liking the idea of Harry hitting on faceless, future passengers. They fall silent, neither quite sure what to say. “So,” Louis says eventually, “since both of us were too thick to realise it sooner, how about we try for a proper date? Fancy a pint later?”

Harry’s face falls. “I’d love to, but I’m working the rest of the day.”

“And we dock early tomorrow morning,” Louis says soberly, mentally cursing himself for taking so damn long to figure it out. It’s his turn to push back his hair with a frustrated jerk of his hand. “Shit. How much time do you have left on your break?”

Harry checks the time on his mobile. “Long enough. What did you have in mind?”

Okay, so maybe a sneaky blowjob in a supply closet wasn’t exactly what Louis had in mind, but with Harry’s lips wrapped around his dick and his back pressed against a shelf of cleaning supplies, he isn’t exactly complaining.

_ “Fuck,”  _ he swears, watching in the dim light as Harry bobs on his cock, his big hand covering what his mouth can’t.

Harry pulls off long enough to glare up at him. “Shush,” he says, eyes narrowed. And god, his lips are cherry red and shiny with spit, and Louis can’t resist hauling him up and crashing their mouths together in a kiss that’s all teeth. Harry’s tongue slips into his mouth, still tasting of Louis, and Louis’ hands fumble at Harry’s flies so he can get a hand on the other man.

With an impatient noise, Harry knocks Louis’ hands away to finish the job himself, pulling out his dick and pumping it a few times. It’s big and flushed, the tip already leaking, and Louis’ mouth actually waters at the sight. He wants to taste, to touch, to feel the stretch in his mouth and his arse.

The thought slips away a moment later as Harry takes both of them in his hand, pulling them off together. Louis’ spit-slick dick slides against Harry’s dry one with the perfect amount of friction, and even though it feels fucking amazing, Louis thinks he could probably come merely from the sight of them both wrapped in Harry’s hand.

A stifled whimper escapes his lips, the sound bringing a smile to Harry’s flushed face. “Like that?” he whispers, picking up the pace. Louis is helpless to do more than nod urgently, bringing his arms up to tangle around Harry’s neck like he’s hanging on for dear life.

“Close,” Louis pants, fisting a hand in Harry’s hair and burying his face into the crook of his neck. Harry’s sweating from the exertion, his skin smelling like the sea. Louis mouths at the already damp skin, muffling his whines into it, and the next thing he knows Harry is grunting softly and coming over his hand and Louis’ cock.

The warm, slick feeling of Harry’s come combined with the pressure of his trembling fingers is enough to push Louis over the edge as well, his whole body sagging with his release.

The small closet is hot, filled with the warmth of their bodies and heaving breaths. It’s quiet for a beat, two, and then both men are chuckling, resting their damp foreheads together and pressing even closer than the space requires.

“Wow,” Harry says quietly. There’s a tremor in his voice that matches the thrumming in Louis’ veins.

“Yeah,” Louis agrees breathlessly. He looks down at the mess between their bodies, wincing at a spot of come staining his shorts. “Ugh. We’re disgusting.”

“Good thing I chose a supply closet for our little rendezvous, then,” Harry says cheekily, gesturing to the cleaning products all around them. He reaches for a roll of paper towels to wipe them both off.

Louis shivers at the rough contact of the towel against his sensitive prick. He watches Harry work with hooded eyes. “You’re going to have to go back to work smelling like sex,” he muses.

Harry looks up from where he’s dabbing at a tell-tale spot at the hem of his shirt. “It was worth it.”

Something warm inside Louis swells at the matter-of-fact way Harry says that. “Good,” he replies. “Besides, I sort of like the idea of you flirting with all of those people while you still smell like me.”

“I don’t flirt,” Harry argues weakly, chucking the towel into a spare bin and giving Louis a soft smile. “But yeah, I like it too.”

They slip out of the closet without drawing too much attention to themselves. Louis wants to desperately to reach out and tangle his hand with Harry’s as he escorts him back to his station, wants to ask how the hell he’s supposed to get off the ship tomorrow with so many possibilities hanging over their heads, just out of reach.

Harry’s already a bit late, but he can’t seem to pull himself away from Louis’ side any more than Louis can leave him.

“Look, I—”

“Harry—”

They both try to speak at once, urgency in both voices. Harry’s eyes are glassy as he regards Louis, his lips still puffy and red. “Will I see you before I have to leave?” Louis asks plaintively. “I’m staying one more night in Florida. I have a hotel—”

“Yes.”

Louis’ eyebrows shoot up. “Yes?”

Harry nods enthusiastically. “Yes. We aren’t leaving again until the next day. Give me the details and I’ll be there.”

There’s a giddy twist in Louis’ stomach. One more night. They get one more night together to figure out… whatever this is. Mouth suddenly dry at the prospect, he rattles off the name of the hotel, surprised he can even remember it with the way his mind is spinning.

“Okay,” Harry says, nodding his head. “I’ll be there.” He looks regretfully over his shoulder at the busy deck behind him. “I have to get to work,” he says forlornly.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Louis promises, not wanting Harry to be any later than he already is. Risking his job for Louis once today is more than enough.

Harry just grins, a few curls still sticking to his forehead with perspiration. “Yeah, it’s a date.” He lingers for a moment, looking like he wants nothing more than to rock forward and press a kiss to Louis’ cheek, but in the end he turns and hurries back to his duties with a heavy sigh.

Louis considers taking up residence in a deck chair, sending Harry after more and more ridiculous concoctions as the night wears on, but in the end he decides against it. There’s something exciting about knowing that the next time he sees Harry there will be no restrictions on them, Harry’s from work or Louis’ from some kind of self-imposed celibacy.

He practically floats back to his stateroom to start packing. Suddenly, tomorrow can’t come fast enough.

***

Disembarking is a bit mad.

It’s early in the morning, but already the humid Florida air is oppressive. People are everywhere, only intensifying the effect, hugging one another with one arm and dragging luggage with the other.

Louis makes it off the ship and into a taxi without too much hassle. He recites the name of the hotel and settles back into the seat, enjoying the air conditioning even if the sensation of being in a car is strange after a week at sea.

The hotel isn’t anything special, but it’s clean and cool and close to the airport. His flight is early the next day, and every minute he doesn’t have to spend traveling is a minute he can stay with Harry.

_ Harry. _

Louis still hasn’t completely processed the events of the afternoon before. He can’t help but think back to the man who boarded that ship, so certain he was going to have a lousy time and come out of it unchanged. He feels sorry for that man, because he had no idea what was about to happen to him.

He takes a moment to wonder what would have happened if he’d taken Harry up on that first drink. Would they ever have started talking? Or would Harry disappear into the background, no reason to strike up anything beyond polite conversation?

Maybe, he thinks, he was exactly who he needed to be a week ago.

He doesn’t remember dozing off, but the sharp trill of the room’s phone startles him awake. He gropes for it, pulling it from the cradle and to his ear with a sleepy “hello?”

“Good afternoon, sir. There’s a Mister Harry Styles here to see you.”

Louis grins against the cool plastic of the receiver. “Send him up,” he says, his voice raspy from his nap. He thanks the front desk attendant and hangs up the phone, staring at the door intensely as if willing Harry to teleport to his room right then and there.

Eventually there’s a soft knock at the door, and Louis is on his feet in a heartbeat to answer it. Harry is on the other side, looking tired and a bit rumpled but  _ here, _ and Louis wastes no time plucking Harry’s bag from his shoulder and ushering him into the room.

It’s almost surreal, Louis thinks as he sets Harry’s bag down in the armchair, to see Harry outside of the cruise. It’s almost as if he’d been a part of it, as far removed from his real life as those perfect beaches and nights at sea, but here he is, looking every bit as nervous as Louis feels.

“You made it,” Louis says, still keeping his careful distance, like if he steps any closer Harry will disappear.

“Of course I did.” Harry frowns at the implication that he might not have come. “I wanted to see you.”

Something hopeful cautiously takes flight in Louis’ chest, as if anxious to escape into the charged air of the hotel room. Louis isn’t sure what the next move is; they’re in a room, with a bed, and neither knows when he’ll next see the other one (if ever). It stands to reason that Louis should get Harry out of his clothes and into the bed as quickly as possible.

Instead, he blurts out: “Will you have dinner with me?”

Harry blinks, looking every bit as surprised as Louis feels at the proposition. His eyes flick to the alarm clock on the bedside table. “Erm. It’s two in the afternoon, Louis.”

A flush fills Louis’ cheeks. This isn’t him at all. He’s cool and collected, and knows how to talk to people. Apparently he left that guy back in London, because whoever is using his body at the moment is proper embarrassing. “A late lunch, then?” Louis tries again with a winning smile.

Harry’s quiet for a moment, considering. “Okay,” he says eventually. His gaze falls to the floor, the tips of his ears going pink as he continues: “For the record, this was not what I pictured happening this afternoon.”

A surprised laugh trumpets from Louis’ mouth, catching him by surprise. “Me neither,” he admits, “but I can’t let you take me to bed without buying me a meal first.”

“Is that so?” Harry drawls, sheepishness morphing into the almost cocky flirtation he’d flaunted on the ship. “Then what did I do to deserve taking you to supply closet?”

Louis rolls his eyes at that, though he can’t help but smile. “I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.” He puts his hands on Harry’s shoulder and starts marching him toward the ensuite. “Now sort yourself out, Styles. You have a date to get ready for.”

That earns him a laugh from Harry, along with a swat to his side as Harry ducks out of Louis’ grip to rummage through his bag. He grants Louis a lascivious wink before disappearing into the toilet with an armful of clothes and toiletries, and Louis stands there and smiles at the closed door for a good few minutes before deciding that perhaps he should get ready as well.

Their late lunch is fairly low-key. Harry leads them to a seafood place with panoramic windows overlooking the beach, and orders them an appetizer to share and a glass of wine each. If the waitress judges them for drinking so early in the day she certainly doesn’t let it show, and soon they’re chatting amiably over a plate of bacon-wrapped scallops. It’s easy, keeping the conversation going, and Harry seems just as delighted as Louis is. The other man stretches a long leg beneath the table to hook their ankles, popping the last scallop in his mouth nonchalantly as if the upper half of his body is unaware of the lower.

“This is nice,” Louis says softly, reaching out over the table to take Harry’s hand, relishing the fact that he  _ can. _ “Thank you.”

“Thank you for giving me a chance,” Harry replies simply. “You made this last week of work the best I’ve ever had.”

And Louis’d suspected—or rather,  _ hoped— _ that Harry would still feel just as strongly after their little encounter, but to hear the reverence in Harry’s voice nearly makes him shiver with pleasure. He wants so badly to follow Harry right back to that ship, spend every day with him so he can see firsthand how this will play out.

Instead, he has a very,  _ very  _ early flight that will soon put an entire ocean between them. It isn’t fair that the one person who’s seriously caught his eye in  _ years _ would literally be out of his reach. It makes Louis just that much more determined to make tonight special, though. He doesn’t need for there to be sex; he just wants to spend as many hours as he’s able soaking up Harry’s presence, charging his body like a battery and hoping it’s enough to brighten even the gloomiest day back home. And maybe, just maybe, they’ll still be thinking of each other a week, a month, a year from now.

Louis’ fantasy of having a tomorrow with Harry is interrupted by the waitress bringing the bill. He snaps it up before Harry can, tucking his credit card inside and handing it back to the bemused waitress. “You can get it next time,” Louis says, effectively cutting off Harry’s protest. He looks at the man across the table with an unwavering stare, as if daring Harry to tell him there won’t be a next time.

Instead, Harry’s face softens, the corners of lips tugging up as he concedes with a tilt of his head. “Okay,” he says softly. “Next time.”

The evening air is warm but there’s a pleasant breeze, and the pair decides to skip the taxi to walk back to the hotel. It’s still early, the sidewalks crowded with people and the sky overhead only just starting to blush with the trajectory of the sun, but Louis doesn’t hesitate to tangle his fingers with Harry’s as they go. Harry doesn’t pull away, instead leaning into Louis’ shoulder, swinging their clasped hands gently like any other couple out for a stroll.

They arrive back at the hotel both too soon and not soon enough. Louis doesn’t want this moment to end, this blissful interlude of pretending he has nowhere to be and that he and Harry have the time to waste on things like long walks on the beach. But still, another part of him is thrumming in anticipation of getting Harry back to his room, unwrapping him like a gift and making damn sure that if it’s the last time they see each other, neither one will be able to forget it.

Back in the room, Harry perches on the edge of the mattress and watches Louis kick off his shoes. He looks nervous, unsure. Whether it’s about sex or Louis, Louis can’t say, but the thought of Harry feeling pressured to be here breaks his heart.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” Louis reassures him, sitting down next to him on the bed. “You don’t owe me anything, and I won’t be disappointed if you just want to have a cup of tea and call it a night.”

Harry laughs lightly. “You have no idea how irresistible you are, do you?” When Louis fails to answer, stunned into silence, Harry fixes him with an intense stare and barrels on. “Louis, I’m not nervous about this in the slightest. I’m only worried that having to let you go tomorrow is going to kill me, and I’m worried that I feel this way after knowing you for barely a week.”

Louis is floored, evidenced by the way his mouth hangs open as he soaks in Harry’s words. He swallows once, twice, tries to compose his reeling mind and speeding heart enough to respond. “I feel the same way,” he admits quietly, mouth gone dry around the words. “But I feel like if I don’t take a chance on you, I’m going to regret it.”

That’s all he has time to say before Harry is leaning in, sealing their mouths together in a soft, gentle kiss. The urgency of yesterday is gone, replaced by a desperation to make this last as long as possible. Harry’s lips are warm and dry, and Louis can’t resist reaching up to frame Harry’s cheeks with his hands, the tips of his fingers disappearing into a mess of brown curls.

“God, Louis, I want you so much,” Harry groans, tucking his head into the juncture of Louis’ neck and shoulder and inhaling deeply. Lips drag along the exposed skin of Louis’ throat, drawing shivers from his already responsive body.

“Then take me,” Louis gasps out as the sharp points of Harry’s graze his collarbone. Without waiting for a reply, he pulls Harry back into a kiss, this one far more insistent than the last. Harry responds enthusiastically, nipping at Louis’ lips and humming in satisfaction when he’s granted entrance to Louis’ waiting mouth.

The kiss turns filthy in a hurry, no trace of uncertainty left in either man as he uses his hands, his mouth, to learn the body of the other. Now and then their mouths part in a gasp of air, fingers fumbling over buttons and clothes being carelessly tossed away. Louis is so hard he’s aching with it, and when Harry finally reaches to undo the button of his flies, Louis knocks his hand away and takes care of it himself. He shucks his trousers and boxers before pushing Harry backward on the mattress and undoing his jeans as well.

“May I?” Louis questions, fingers hooked into the waistband of Harry’s trousers and pants.

Harry props himself up on his elbows, his bare chest heaving, and drags his gaze over Louis’ naked body before meeting his eyes. “Anything,” he says, somewhat breathlessly. He collapses backward with a groan when Louis frees his erection.

The sight of Harry laid out for him—the creamy patches of skin usually covered by clothing fading into the rich tan that comes with working in the sun, all stretched over defined muscles and juts of bone—is almost more than Louis can handle. He could get off to this, just to watching the man on the bed’s breathing speed up as Louis reaches down to give his own cock a few quick tugs to relieve some of the need.

He crawls over Harry’s body slowly, methodically, like a predator stalking its prey. Harry whines when Louis’ stomach drags over his erection, reaching up to wrap his arms around the smaller man and bringing their bodies as tightly together as possible. Harry is so warm and solid beneath Louis’ body, his hips minutely rocking upward in search of some friction, a sigh trapped on his lips when Louis ducks his head for another kiss.

“What do you want?” Louis whispers, letting his lips drag over Harry’s lips on the consonants. 

“You, just want you,” Harry moans in reply at the hot breath ghosting over his ear.

Encouraged by Harry’s reaction, Louis laves and bites at Harry’s earlobe, drawing a shuddery breath of pleasure from the man beneath him.

“H-how do you want it?” Harry gasps out, tightening his grip around Louis, tugging at the hair at the base of Louis’ neck.

“Want you to fuck me,” Louis replies boldly, moving on from Harry’s ear to suck a bruise into the skin just beneath it. “I want to feel you inside me. I want you to be the only thing I can think about on my flight home tomorrow.”

With a strangled cry, Harry flips them over, sitting up so he’s straddling Louis. Louis looks up at him wide-eyed with anticipation, at the way Harry’s eyes are dark and hooded, at the flush crawling up his chest and neck, at the way he licks his swollen lips. “Fuck, Louis,” Harry breathes, just looking down at Louis with something like awe, his large hands mapping the planes of Louis’ chest. “I’m gonna make it so good for you.”

He sounds so desperate, so gentle, that Louis can’t help but whimper in need. God, it’s been so long since he’s done this, since he allowed himself to be so open and vulnerable with someone. This isn’t a quick one-off in a club toilet or an emotionless fuck after a failed blind date, no. There’s an intensity behind Harry’s eyes that Louis feels down to his core, and he wants nothing more than to let Harry fill him up until he can’t take it anymore.

“Be right back,” Harry whispers, leaning down to place a sweet kiss at the corner of Louis’ lips. He clambers off the bed and over to his bag, pawing through the contents. Louis rolls to his side to watch, to admire the way the muscles work beneath the skin of Harry’s back, the way the swell of his arse gives way to gorgeous thighs and strong legs. Harry’s body would put any of the men on the cruise to shame, and here it is on display, for Louis’ eyes only.

Condom and a small bottle in hand, Harry climbs back onto the mattress, urging Louis to scoot up so he can rest his head on the pillows. Harry settles between Louis’ spread legs, leaning over him to grab a spare pillow and using it to prop Louis’ arse up off the bed.

“You’re so gorgeous,” Harry murmurs, uncapping the bottle and letting the clear liquid drizzle over his long index finger.

Louis can feel his body clench and release in anticipation, but even knowing what’s coming doesn’t prepare him for the first nudge of Harry’s finger against his hole. “Jesus fuck,” Louis curses, fighting the urge to rock down to meet Harry’s finger. Harry must sense his impatience because he pushes in on the next exhale, a slow, fluid motion that lights up Louis’ body like a jack-o-lantern from the inside out.

“Feel okay?” Harry murmurs, carefully watching Louis’ reaction as he slowly pulls his finger nearly all the way out before pushing back in.

“Yes, more,  _ yes,”  _ Louis pants, having to close his eyes at the sight of Harry biting at his plush bottom lip. The knuckles nudging up against his rim are an awful tease, a promise of being stretched and full, and Louis practically whines with need. “More, Harry,  _ please.” _

There’s a pause for Harry to apply more lube, and then two fingers are slipping inside Louis’ entrance. When Louis chances a glance at Harry, it’s to see him watching the place where his fingers disappear inside Louis with unrestrained desire. “Enjoying the view?” Louis teases, though the attempt is ruined from the tremor in his voice from Harry spreading his fingers apart inside him.

“Taking this like you were made for it,” Harry says, crooking his fingers in search of Louis’ prostate. “Can’t wait to see how you look on my cock.”

The words align with the first brush of Harry’s fingers against his prostate, and Louis has to wrap a hand around his dick to keep from shooting off then and there. “Please, Harry, give it to me. I’m ready.”

“You sure?” Harry checks, his fingers relentlessly working over Louis’ spot now that he’s found it. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

_ “Yes,”  _ Louis insists through gritted teeth. It must be convincing, because next thing he knows Harry’s fingers are gone, followed by the crinkle of foil and a groan as Harry rolls the condom down over his prick.

They lock eyes as Harry pushes in. Harry’s jaw hangs open in astonishment, as if he can’t quite comprehend how good this feels, and Louis can absolutely relate. Harry’s big, and there’s a slight burn in his rim as his body stretches to accommodate, but the momentary pain is nothing compared to the overwhelming pleasure that follows.

“Can I move?” Harry asks in a tremulous voice once he’s fully buried inside Louis. His hair hangs around his face like a curtain, the ends tickling against Louis’ sweat-damp collarbones, and he feels the tingle all the way to his toes.

“You really, really should.” Louis replies, just as shaky, and then the world collapses in on itself as Harry draws out and slams back in. He sets a brisk pace, his hips snapping into Louis with abandon, and Louis does his best to rock his own hips into each thrust. His hands scrabble for purchase over the perspiration coating Harry’s broad back, nails digging in when Harry aims just right and makes Louis cry out.

Louis’ cock is dripping where it’s trapped between their bodies, hard and aching. Louis wants to get a hand on himself but doesn’t dare let go of Harry, gripping him like he’s holding on for dear life as Harry pounds relentlessly into him.

“Not gonna last much longer,” Harry pants, brow furrowed as he tries to focus on speaking.

“Touch me,” Louis orders, nearly sobbing with relief when Harry gets a hand between them and fists Louis’ neglected dick. Their mouths collide as Harry jerks Louis in time with his thrusts, his tongue fucking into Louis’ mouth and Louis has never felt so damn full in his entire life. His body and Harry’s are joined from top to bottom, the world narrowed down to every places their bodies are touching, and then Harry nails his prostate dead on and Louis is coming so hard he can’t breathe.

Harry’s hips stutter when Louis climaxes, and it’s only a few short thrusts later that he buries himself deep, spilling into the condom with a grunt. He collapses down on Louis, sweaty and spent, straining to kiss every bit of Louis’ skin that he can reach while Louis strokes his damp hair away from his flushed face.

“Was that enough to remember me by?” Harry asks softly, sleepily, once he’s disposed of the condom and curled himself around Louis’ body.

Louis’ heart clenches at that. It had been too easy, in the heat of things, to forget that all too soon he and Harry would be thousands of miles apart. It’s so unfair to meet like this, under these circumstances, without being given an opportunity to see where things go.

“Couldn’t forget you if I tried, Harry,” Louis replies, pressing a kiss against Harry’s temple and smiling at the pleased noise he gets in response.

Now he just has to hope that it’s enough for Harry to remember him, as well.

***

Neither of them cries when they say goodbye.

Why should they? When it comes down to it, they’re virtual strangers. Harry programs his number into Louis’ mobile, and kisses him before helping him into the waiting taxi. “My contract is up in a few months,” he says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll come and visit.”

“I’ll be around, unless my mum has signed me up for a dating show by then,” Louis remarks, but the joke falls flat. He pulls Harry in, kisses him deeply one last time, and then throws himself into the cab before he can do something stupid like stay.

_ *** _

_ Three Months Later _

**From: Harry**

**My flight gets in at 2. Pick me up from the airport? x**

Louis stares at his mobile intently, waiting for another message to appear. True, it’s only 1:57, but knowing that he’s so close to seeing Harry again has all of Louis’ nerves on edge.

They’ve kept in contact these past few months: messages, emails, even postcards from some of the places Harry’s ship visited. There were Skype calls that lasted for hours and hours when time allowed and brief ones just to say hello when it didn’t. Harry listened to Louis complain about work, and Louis listened to Harry’s stories about ridiculous passengers. They never talked about what they were to each other, or where this was headed, instead just reveling in the here and now.

“You’ve met someone, haven’t you?” Louis’ mother asked the first time they spoke after his trip. “I can hear the smile in your voice from here.” She had tried valiantly to wheedle the information out of him, but Louis just laughed it off. He wasn’t ready to get his own hopes up, let alone his mother’s.

Now, though, now he’s standing in the airport, eyes trained on the arrivals gate for a familiar face. The weeks seemed to slip by until suddenly, one day, Harry announced that he was coming home between contracts, and Louis had felt the fire inside himself rekindle all over again.

His mobile buzzes in his hand:  **On the ground!** He grins broadly at the screen before locking it and tucking it into his pocket. His heart begins to pound when people eventually start pouring out of the gate, bags in hand and eyes tired from the long flight, and Louis cranes his neck looking for Harry.

When Louis sees him, his breath catches in his throat. Harry is coming straight towards him, wearing the ridiculous pineapple shirt he’d worn that night on the ship. His hair is shorter, now cropped close to his head on the sides but long enough that the top still shows signs of curling. He looks incredible.

“You cut your hair,” is the first thing out of Louis mouth when Harry reaches him.

Harry stops just in front of him, one eyebrow quirked over amused eyes. “Yeah, it was getting too hot,” he admits. He runs his fingers through the much shorter strands. “Do you like it?” he asks uncertainly.

“Love it,” Louis insists before pulling Harry into him for a hug. They stand there like that for a while, ignorant of the crowd parting around them, content just to hold each other close.

Louis takes Harry’s suitcase when they part, his free arm staying tucked around Harry’s lower back as he guides them out of the airport. He hasn’t asked how long Harry’s staying, but honestly he finds he doesn’t care. They’ve already proved that the distance isn’t a hindrance, and even if nothing happens between them, Louis knows he’s gained a friend for life. Their relationship could go nowhere at all, and Louis will still feel grateful just for having the chance to find.

Although, he thinks, letting his eyes slip to the taller man only to find Harry’s green eyes already watching him and returning the smile he finds there, he has a very, very good feeling about this.

“What’s on your mind?” Harry asks, having turned to find Louis grinning up at him with a faraway look in his eyes.

Louis’ cheeks flush, but he pulls Harry closer and doesn’t let the smile fade. “Nothing important,” he replies, continuing to navigate through the busy airport. “Now, can I get _you_ something to drink?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it! Etoilenoire, your prompts were lovely and I really hope I did this one justice!
> 
> Please come say hello to me on [tumblr](http://icanhazzalou.tumbr.com)! If you enjoyed this story, please consider reblogging the [post](http://icanhazzalou.tumblr.com/post/149081508450/title-sail-your-sea-meet-your-storm-author) for it. Thanks to the lovely Summer Exchange mods for another great year!


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